


I need the smell of summer (I need its noises in my ears)

by cherryvanilla



Series: I Will Play My Game Beneath the Spin Light [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, Missing Scene, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mickey says, ‘shotgun’ Ian immediately conjures up images of them sharing a joint, Mickey blowing smoke into his mouth, their lips barely grazing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I need the smell of summer (I need its noises in my ears)

**Author's Note:**

> Title by Brand New. Spoilers for 2x02.

When Ian was ten years old and Frank was lucid enough to still remember birthdays and actually care about his children’s extracurricular activities, Ian played baseball. His team was pretty shitty and he was the smallest one there, mixed in with kids one and two years his senior. One of those kids loved to burp loudly, say things to the catcher that Ian mostly heard in the R-rated films Lip watched, and sprint to the bases cockily whenever he made a run. He annoyed most of the kids on their team. Ian knew he was an idiot but he still watched him from time to time, more than you were probably supposed to watch a boy.

One day, the kid was so pissed off by a call that he literally pissed on 1st base. He was escorted off the field and cursed the entire way to the dugout.

His name was Mickey Milkovich and over five years later, Ian would fuck him on that same field.

_____________________________

When Mickey says, ‘shotgun’ Ian immediately conjures up images of them sharing a joint, Mickey blowing smoke into his mouth, their lips barely grazing. He’s already seen the beer can and knows this isn’t the case but he can’t help picturing it some more. He’s not sure why Mickey is even doing this. In fact, he’s not sure why Mickey decided to go to the field in general. They’d hung out with Mandy all day, playing X-box while Ian sat shoulder to thigh with Mickey on the couch and attempted to control his boner. It was nearly impossible; they hadn’t touched each other in months and Ian’s skin felt ablaze at each spot their bodies touched.

Mandy had baked terrible brownies for the occasion and they’d ordered pizza while Mickey teased her for missing him. Throughout the entire day, Mickey kept looking at Ian like he was the one on the menu and Ian felt too hot in his clothes.

Finally, Mandy decided to go out with friends and they were alone, save for Mickey’s dad passed out like usual.

“Let’s go for a walk, man,” Mickey had said just as Ian was about to suggest going to the bedroom. He blinked rapidly and could feel his face pinch in confusion but nodded. He headed for the door while Mickey said, “One sec” before he’d returned with a backpack.

“What are you up to?” Ian asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

“Guy does some time and he’s never trusted again,” Mickey quipped, pushing past Ian and out the front the door.

Ian smirked and had followed him down the porch. They ended up on the baseball field, walking underneath the lights and toward the dugout.

__________________

So now Mickey had a beer in his hand and was holding it against Ian’s lips, hands brushing together briefly, while Ian pressed his mouth to the same area Mickey’s had just been. The reasons behind it seemed futile but then again, a lot of what Mickey did seemed futile. Ian was enjoying the talking, though. It had been a while.

Ian had visited Mickey exactly five times; once for each month of his incarceration. With each one, he expected Mickey to ask what the fuck he was doing there, like he did with Mandy today. Instead he just sat down, picked up the phone, and they fell into conversation. After that first time it was no longer awkward. Ian didn’t say he missed him again but he was pretty sure Mickey could read it on his face. They talked for about twenty minutes each time and Ian was surprised by the ease of it all. Sometimes it turned sexual, like when Mickey had said, “You were on your knees last night, sucking me off. It’s a good look for you” while had Ian flushed and responded, “Was I enjoying it?”

Mickey had just smirked, rolled his eyes, and said, “Please, you always do.”

Sometimes they’d look at each other through the glass and Ian could just see himself bending Mickey over while he pushed back and begged for it.

Now, under the cool of the dugout, he’s enjoying the talk and is willing to keep it going until Mickey cuts him off, saying, “We gonna chit-chat some more or you gonna get on me?” and giving Ian the dirtiest look he’s ever received.

Ian grins at him and they start undoing their pants. “You gonna add public sex to your record?” Ian asks as he kicks off his jeans.

Mickey’s gaze travels down his body and he kicks away his own jeans before replying, “Shut the fuck up, car thief.”

Ian shakes his head. “Never should have told you about that, man.”

Mickey’s mouth quirks up and he licks his lips before moving toward his backpack. “Traded some cigs for these this morning,” he says, throwing a sleeve of condoms at Ian.

Ian rubs one between his thumb and forefinger and looks up at Mickey. “Nice. Lube would’ve been helpful though, genius.”

Mickey gives him the finger and digs back into his backpack, pulling out a small packet. “Don’t fuckin’ underestimate me, Gallagher.”

“I stand corrected,” he deadpans as Mickey stalks toward him and palms him roughly through his boxers before pulling them down his legs. Ian does the same and then they’re stepping out from around the fabric pooled at their feet, Ian maneuvering Mickey so he’s facing the field.

Ian sinks to his knees, dropping the items in his hand on the ground. He tugs at his cock lazily before using both hands to part Ian’s cheeks and licking his hole with abandon.

“God damn,” Mickey groans while Ian points his tongue and licks lewdly around his hole before pushing inside.

“Fuck, you been practicin’ this?” he hears Mickey breath out shakily and smirks before pulling back to nip at his left cheek.

“Yeah, in between the Trig and Chemistry I’ve also been taking ass-eating lessons.”

Mickey barks out a laugh. “Fucking bastard. Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t, just dives back in and delights in the small sounds Mickey’s making above him. They were always vulnerable, needy. Ian’s jerked off to the memory of those sounds far too many nights these past few months.

When Mickey’s jerking his own cock in time with Ian’s tongue and Ian’s moaning encouragement against him, he finally says, “Alright, shit, enough. Get in me.”

Ian pulls back, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and slicks himself up with a condom and the lube. He bends Mickey forward and holds him there by the straight of his arm before guiding himself slowly inside. They both cry out at the first contact; it’s been too fucking long. They’ve never defined this – Ian tried to at least define it as fuck-buddies but Mickey wasn’t even willing to commit to that. All he knows is he hasn’t fucked anyone since Mickey and if Mickey’s uber tight ass was anything to go by the fidelity was mutual, whether intended or not.

The irony isn’t lost on Ian that he’s had his tongue in Mickey’s ass but not his mouth. It’s not like Ian was ever all that big on kissing. He’d done it with Kash from time to time but that was because Kash seemed to really enjoy it. Kash’s breath always smelt like some weird mixture of curry and smoke, though, and Ian didn’t really want to be bothered with it all that much in the end. He supposes it’s the whole ‘wanting what you can’t have’ thing that causes him fixate on it. He holds Mickey at bay tonight because he can’t be sure if he’d be able to stop at just mouthing the back of his neck.

Mickey reaches back, fucking himself on Ian’s cock, and drags his hands up Ian’s arms. “You fuckin’ filled out.”

Ian’s hand tightens its hold on Mickey’s shirt and he licks at his own too dry lips. “Yeah. You like it?”

“Fuck’s it look like?” he grits out, bending down even more, his ass perfect and tight around Ian’s cock, while he reaches whatever part of Ian’s arms he can.

Ian thrusts his hips harder and gives in, plastering himself against Mickey’s back while Mickey has a death grip on his forearms.

“Yeah, come on, give it to me.”

Sometimes, Mickey would get like this; vocal, open. Ian loves it, wants to keep it going. He licks at the back of his neck and tastes salt and sweat and the summer air. He reaches an arm around to stroke Mickey’s cock and finds his hand covered with Mickey’s own as they move to the rhythm Ian’s set with his hips. They fuck harder, faster, Ian’s small moans getting louder the closer he comes. He bites at Mickey’s neck when it happens, lets his lips slip to his bare shoulder, closing down in something that’s most definitely a kiss. Mickey pulses beneath between his fingers and comes directly after, ass tightening around Ian and making him shudder with aftershocks of pleasure.

They don’t move for a few seconds, just gulp air back into their lungs, bodies still shaking.

Ian presses his lips to Mickey’s skin and thinks about first kisses and West Point. He knows which one he wants more.

He’s not sure what it means for them.

Except that he still wants there to be a ‘them.’  
__________________

When Ian was thirteen he bumped into a kid in the hall at school. A second later he found himself up against a locker with a finger in his face. “Look where you’re fucking going.”

He gazed up into dark, hard eyes and saw it was Mickey. His dick began to stir and he knew in that moment he was a) gay and b) apparently hot for an assholes that slammed him into lockers.

Two years later he’d be slammed into a bedroom wall and look up breathlessly into those same eyes. He’d think: kiss me.

Months later, he’d still be waiting but he’d have other things on the horizon. He’d wonder what that means for them.

 

[end]


End file.
